


The Stars We Could Reach

by Michael_McGruder



Series: Argadnel Series [3]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:59:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michael_McGruder/pseuds/Michael_McGruder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of domestic turbulence, The Rimmers take a holiday with The Listers at a quiet lake house in an attempt to suss out the important questions in their lives and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skinned Hearts and Knees

**Author's Note:**

> It is strongly recommended that you read Hail Mary and Family Portrait before The Stars We Could Reach, otherwise there will be a lot of questions.

Arnold Rimmer felt as though he were standing on the edge of a great precipice.

There were a million different things he had to do to ensure he would survive the fall. They all loomed over his head, like heavy stones delicately suspended on strands of dust. He had to watch them all at once, as any one of them could crush him at any moment.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, and he waited as long as he could in the quiet spaces between moments. Because as soon as he acted, acknowledged those looming things, he would have to jump.

In real time, Rimmer was sitting on the couch in his studio office, the wood floor slightly chilly on his bare feet. He had spent the night there, nursing a black eye, a split lip, and a bruised ego.

He and Yvonne had been arguing about their finances again. He’d made some movement, to grab her shoulder or something, he couldn’t remember what he meant to do, and she reacted reflexively by popping him in the mouth with a right hook. He went down instantly, banging his eye off the kitchen table.

“Shit, Arnold,” she said immediately, bending down to help him up. He’d flung his arms up protectively, squeaking, “don’t hit me!” and she backed off. She’d never hit him before, and a sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, knowing she’d fucked up.

Yvonne apologized, and when Rimmer suggested they sleep separately that night, she’d insisted he have the bed, but he just shook his head and quietly padded down to his studio, tail between his legs.

She came in with a cup of coffee, handing it to him as she sat beside him. She looked over his purpling eye, swollen almost shut, and the raw red crack in his lower lip. Yvonne ran her fingers through the greying chestnut curls of his hair, her nails grazing his scalp in that way that sent shivers down his spine, and pressed feather light kisses to his injuries. He closed his eyes and leaned into her embrace.

“Michael’s going to ask about it,” Yvonne said in a depressed tone. Rimmer shrugged and sighed.

“Tell him the truth.”

While the pair hid in the fallout shelter of the quiet space between moments, they looked at the large orange painting dominating the room.

God, Rimmer hated that painting. It was a painting of the Jupiter rise. Clichéd overly romantic pap. But it had been commissioned for Admiral Tranter’s office and it was going to pay for their holiday. God knew they needed it.

There was a soft beeping from the call monitor.

“Who is it?” Yvonne asked as Rimmer went over to read the caller ID. M. Rimmer, Bactria, Io. “God, it’s your mother,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Rimmer switched the call monitor on after she left. Margaret Rimmer appeared on the screen.

“Good heavens, Arnold, what’s happened to your face?”

“Nothing, mother,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Has that awful wife of yours been beating you?”

“No, mother,” he lied. She sniffed indifferently.

“If you wanted someone so masculine, you should have married a man.”

“Why did you call?” he asked.

“I want to see my grandchildren.” He blinked.

“Since when?” Rimmer shook his head. “It’s not a good time. They’re starting school again soon, Arnold has that surgery coming up…”

“Don’t be difficult, Arnold,” she interrupted. “They’re my grandchildren and I have every right to see them. And to see that they’re being raised properly. Arnold Jr. wouldn’t even need that surgery if you’d been a proper father to him in the first place.” Rimmer said nothing. “When you work out a date, do let me know,” she said before hanging up.

 

“What did the mad bitch want?” Yvonne asked.

“She wants to see the boys,” he said.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” she snapped. Rimmer closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temples.

“I know,” he said quietly.

“That abusive, manipulative reptile is not coming anywhere near my children.” It took some effort for Yvonne not to slam cupboards and dishes as she began to prepare breakfast.

“Obviously she can’t see Arnold, and I don’t want her around Michael either,” he said. “But you know how she can be, especially when she wants something.”

“Let me talk to her, she’ll know exactly where she stands in this household.”

“No,” Rimmer said flatly. He wasn’t sure that his mother and his wife had ever specifically spoken with one another, and he knew they’d never been in a room together. He preferred to keep it that way.

 

Michael did ask about his father’s face at breakfast, though he was sure he already knew what happened. It wasn’t as though he and Arnold couldn’t hear their parents arguing.

The pair came down for breakfast warily, and Michael’s question was hesitant.

“I did a very stupid, very regretful thing last night,” Yvonne said. “As I’ve told you boys, never hit anyone in anger. What I did was very wrong.”

She and Rimmer watched their sons, trying to gauge their reactions. They were both very quiet.

“Can I go to Jim and Bexley’s today?” Michael asked.

“Did their parents say it was okay?”

“They never mind,” Michael said.

“Ask them first. If it’s fine with them, it’s fine with me.”

 

“Is it bad?” Arnold asked Michael as they sat on the stoop of their front garden.

“Split lip and a black eye,” Michael reported. “I think he’ll live.” They listened to the cicadas in silence for a while. “I can’t believe mom hit dad.”

“Yeah,” Arnold said.

“Do you think she’ll do it again?” Michael asked.

“I hope not.” Another pensive silence fell over the two.

“Can we take the bike to Jim and Bexley’s?” Michael eventually asked. Arnold smiled.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

Arnold rolled out the bike. A classic 2328 twin crystal chamber Triumph Shooting Star, in British racing green. Technically it belonged to their father, but Arnold rode it most of the time. He strapped on his silver helmet.

“You got your brain bucket on?” he asked Michael.

“Yeah.”

Arnold gave Michael’s head a few knocks to make sure, satisfied when he felt the hard shell under his knuckles. Michael sat on the pillion behind Arnold, holding his waist.

“Anything coming?” Arnold asked, though he already knew there wasn’t.

“No, you’re good to go, Ace.”

They peeled away from their driveway, and glided down the gentle curves of the road that Arnold had memorized. A soft beeping in his helmet let him know someone was coming up on his left. He let them pass.

When they came to the long stretch of straight road, Arnold paused.

“Anything?”

“All clear.”

Arnold flicked on the booster and Michael held onto him tightly as they accelerated rapidly down the road. Michael’s face split into a huge grin as they hit the 100mph mark.

Speed was an addiction both of them shared.

 

Lister heard Arnold and Michael come up the road long before they pulled up to the house. He stepped outside to greet them.

“You still riding your dad’s old clunker?” Lister teased as Arnold pulled off his helmet.

“It’s a classic,” he defended. Lister shook his head.

“That’s what he says, and this is coming from a man whose dream car is a 400 year old Jag powered off the bones of dinosaurs.” Lister ruffled Michael’s dark blonde hair as he tugged off his helmet.

“Jim and Bex are out back with the sheep.” Michael thanked him and ran off to find the twins.

“You haven’t eaten that thing yet?” Arnold asked wryly.

“No!” Lister said in mock horror. “We’d never eat Lamb Chop!”

Arnold followed Lister inside, and Lister poured him a cup of coffee.

“So. You nervous?” Lister asked.

“About the surgery? I’m scared as hell, Dave,” Arnold laughed.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

There was a pause as Arnold collected his thoughts. He looked so much like his father, Lister thought. But then, he supposed, he was his father.

Lister thought about the odd coincidence that there was the same age gap between this Arnold Rimmer and Jim and Bex as there was between himself and Rimmer Sr.

His thoughts about parallel universes and causality and linking destinies were interrupted, and he was brought back to reality as one scared sixteen year old kid opened up about his fears.

“I’ve gotten used to being blind, you know?” Arnold said, pressing the warm cup between his palms. “I know how to get around, I hardly ever run into stuff. I mean, I get that I’m in familiar surroundings. But it’s hard to explain to someone who can see why it’s not as difficult as it seems.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?” Lister asked. Arnold shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s part of it, I guess. And it’s not like they’re actually restoring my sight, you know?”

His tongue darted across his lips and his right leg jiggled nervously in that way that made Lister visually check him for grey hair or crow’s feet, to assure himself that he was talking to Arnold _Jonathan_ Rimmer, not Arnold _Judas_ Rimmer.

Lister thought it was a good call to have changed his middle name. Judas just wouldn’t have fit the open, honest, and caring young man in front of him. For all his personal problems, Lister had to admit, Rimmer had done a good job raising his sons.

“I’m just worried about, like, what if something goes wrong and they scramble my eggs? What if it gets worse, or something else stops working, you know?”

“Hey, nothing to worry about, Ace. Your parents are taking you to the second best back alley doctor on Europa.” They both laughed.

“I’m glad you guys are coming with us to Lake Cliodhna,” Arnold said.

With Yvonne and Kristine’s hectic work schedule at the Moytura base, it was difficult to find the time for them all to get together. The week at the lake cabin, a place Rimmer and Lister had bought years ago, had been something of a coup.

“Me too. Is Amelia coming?”

“I don’t know. She’s still working out the logistics with her parents.”

“They worried you’re going to deflower their little girl?” Lister said cheekily.

“Don’t,” Arnold mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s alright, you know,” Lister said, watching the teen. “Sex isn’t wrong or dirty.”

“I know,” Arnold shrugged.

Lister had always sensed Arnold’s ill ease with the topic. He tried to hide it or brush it off most of the time, but Lister could see something bothered him. He never asked what it was, but tried in his Uncle Lister type way to loosen him up a little. He definitely hoped the kid would lose his virginity earlier than his father had.

“So you two haven’t done anything, then?” Lister asked vaguely. Arnold shook his head.

“Not really. I mean, we’ve fooled around a little…”

“But?”

“But anything beyond that, I freeze up.”

“Why?” Lister asked. Arnold was quiet for a minute before sighing.

“What if… I dunno, what if she laughs at me? Or thinks I’m… weird or something?”

Lister almost wanted to laugh, but he was glad he didn’t as he could see Arnold was serious.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Arnold couldn’t help but grin self consciously. “Man, let me tell you. I had a mate back on Red Dwarf, Petersen. He had the ugliest todger you’d ever seen. Thing looked like a shillelagh.” Arnold practically barked with laughter. “Even that broken toothed bastard, in the moment, no woman ever said to him, ‘I didn’t sign up for that,’ bless them.”

 

Michael, Jim, and Bexley were in the back garden, which was more of a field than a garden, petting the sheep. Michael tugged up a handful of grass, feeding it to the animal.

“C’mere,” Bexley said. “I wanna show you something.”

They followed Bexley to the tree line that separated their property from the woods. Bexley kneeled down at the base of a tree where the roots formed a hollow. Michael peeked inside, finding a black cat suckling six kittens.

“Frankenstein had another litter,” Bexley said. “Dad says we can only keep one, though. Do you want one?”

They pulled the kittens out of their hiding spot, letting them crawl around their laps, wiggling long strands of grass for them to bat at.

There were three black ones, two black and white ones, and one fluffy grey one. Michael liked the grey one, and snuggled his nose into its fur.

“What are you gonna call it?” Bexley asked.

“I dunno,” Michael said. “Maybe Frank.”

“That’s boring!” Jim said.

“Dennis?”

“That’s boring too!”

“What are you gonna call the one you keep?” Michael asked.

“We’re debating between Fish, Pizza, or Chickenhead.”

“You’re cracked,” Michael laughed.

 

Arnold stayed a little while longer before heading back to the house. As he passed his father’s studio on his way to his room, he heard a voice that made him pause quietly outside the door and listen. His father was talking to someone on the call monitor, and his voice sounded dull and withdrawn.

“Have you arranged a time for me to see Arnold and Michael?” the voice asked. “I’d like to see Arnold before the surgery. In case anything goes wrong, you see.”

Arnold didn’t hear his father’s response. He felt numb and cold. Every muscle in his body was shaking. He couldn’t breathe.

The caller was his mother. His real mother. She had found him and wanted to take him back to that dreadful house. Every line she’d drawn on his skin, every scar she’d left was suddenly alive with pain, and he scrambled away from the door.

He suddenly felt seven years old again as he kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers of his bed. He closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to contain a sob, as though she might hear it from Io.

There was a soft knocking at his door.

“Arn?” his father called. “Are you alright?”

Arnold didn’t answer, and hugged the covers around him tighter as Rimmer walked in. He felt the weight shift on his bed as his father sat down.

Rimmer put a hand on Arnold’s shoulder.

“Arn, what’s wrong?” All he heard was muffled mumbling. Rimmer gently tugged the covers off Arnold’s head and smoothed out the messy curls of hair. He pulled the boy’s head into his lap and was encircled in a fierce grip as Arnold hugged him close. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, stroking his hair.

“Please don’t send me back there,” Arnold begged in a small voice. “Please, I don’t want to see her again.”

_Shit_ , Rimmer thought.

“You heard that conversation?” Arnold nodded. “Listen, Arnold. I promise, I swear I won’t let her near you. You won’t have to talk to her, write her, or anything. It’s okay. She can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let her.”

 

Rimmer sat in his studio, debating whether or not to tell Yvonne about the incident when he was startled by his call monitor beeping again. _Christ_ , he thought. _Can’t I be left in peace for five minutes?_

The call was from Lister. He flicked the screen on.

“Smeg, what happened to your face?”

“Nothing.”

“Mike wants to stay over. I figured I could drop him off when I swing by to pick you up tomorrow.” Rimmer’s face was blank. “For that meeting with Reaper?”

“Oh, god. That’s tomorrow, right. Sorry, I’ve been a little distracted.”

“Right,” Lister said, eyeing him. “Arn make it back okay?”

“Yeah, he’s upstairs.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow, man.”

 

Jim Reaper was a tall man with tall hair and a long, pale face that looked like an uncooked pie. He was fussy and nervous all the time. Not good qualities to have in the head of sales for Divadroid International, but he was the one with the finances and the high ranking, highly influential relatives dotting the company and the Space Corps.

Those two hands washed each other, and Reaper happened to be connected to a nepotistic constellation that encompassed both.

A certain uncle in the admiralty was why he was sitting in a room with a Mr. D. Lister and A. Rimmer.

Reaper wiped his clammy hands on a kerchief before shaking Lister and Rimmer’s.

“Good to finally meet you,” he said. “Uncle Bongo, excuse me, Admiral Tranter, has told me a lot about you.”

“He’s said smeg all about you, mate,” Lister said. Rimmer cringed, but Reaper laughed.

“So, it’s your godson we’re here to discuss, yes?” Lister nodded. “And this is his father?”

“Yep.”

“Mr. Rimmer,” Reaper said, shifting gears. “I want you to know your son is in the very best hands here. We’ve seen a lot of success with military application of this technology, and we’re very excited to test out a civilian model.”

_Who’s we, have you got a mouse in your pocket?_ Rimmer thought. He didn’t know why, but there was something about Reaper that made him want to bully the man. He swallowed dryly and nodded.

“Yes, we’re glad Arnold’s application was accepted,” Rimmer said. Reaper nodded.

“Now, there’s just a few points I’d like to go over. Over the next five years, the implants will be collecting and submitting data back to the company on how the equipment is operating. It won’t be able to see what he’s doing or anything like that. No funny business. Just how it’s processing stimuli and converting it to information.”

“Right,” Rimmer nodded.

“He may need to come in periodically for recalibration. After the five year period, we should have enough information to determine whether or not a civilian model is a viable product, what improvements can be made, that sort of thing.”

“Right,” Rimmer said again, feeling like he wasn’t contributing much to the conversation. Reaper smiled.

“Honestly, the science is way beyond my comprehension, I just sell the thing. But I can assure you, this will change your son’s life for the better.”

 

“I don’t like him,” Rimmer said as he sat with Lister in the pub.

“What does that matter?” Lister asked.

“I don’t know, he makes me nervous. Like there’s something he’s not telling me.”

“There’s probably a lot of things he’s not telling you. But it’s not stuff you have to worry about.”

Rimmer closed his eyes and grimaced, massaging his temples. Lister’s brow furrowed.

“Are you alright, mate?”

“Yeah.” Rimmer said. “Headache.”

“You’ve been getting a lot of those. Maybe you’re the one who needs a brain implant, eh?”

“I need to be in a deck chair by the water,” he grumbled.

“Soon enough,” Lister said. “So. Are you gonna tell me about the shiner or not?” Rimmer glared at him, then relented.

“Yvonne punched me in the face last night,” he said flatly, licking his split lip. “I got this on the way down,” he pointed to his black eye.

“Evee did that? I hope you were shagging at the time.”

“We were having an argument.”

“Must have been some argument.” Lister leaned over and stroked Rimmer’s inner thigh with a puckish grin. “You know I’d never hit you, babe.”

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“You’re moody today,” Amelia commented as she and Arnold lay on his bed.

“Sorry,” he said, giving her a quick peck.

“S’alright,” she said. “You’ll be okay.”

“You think so?”

“You’re a survivor, Ace.”

Amelia kissed him and he ran his fingers through the wild nimbus of her hair. He knew the geography of her body so well. The feel of her skin, the soft curves of her body, the way she smelled, the sound of her voice, her breath, her heart.

It was odd to think he’d know her more, know her differently in a few days. She seemed to be thinking something similar.

Amelia shifted her position to straddle him, and she could feel him respond immediately. Arnold reached up, his fingers delicately feathering down her throat, touching her collarbone, then slipping down her sternum. She had unbuttoned her shirt and slipped off her bra.

She placed his hands on her breasts, both of them grinning shyly. He was fascinated by the soft, warm handful of flesh, and the slightly tighter buds pressing into the centre of his palms.

Her hands fell away and went for the fly of his trousers. He froze as she pulled at the zip. His breath caught in his throat as her warm hand cupped him, only the thin fabric of his boxers between their skin.

_She’s going to see, she’s going to see,_ his mind hissed. He tried to beat it back and stay in the moment, but it was a losing battle. _She’s going to ask questions, she’ll be repulsed._

God, he wanted her, and he wanted it to stop, and he wanted it to just happen and be over with.

The firm stroking of her hand felt amazing, but he was losing it, and when he felt his trousers and pants slipping down his hips, he felt his face flush with hot embarrassment as not only was he disfigured, he was suddenly impotent as well.

When he was free of his fabric, she did pause. _Oh my god, I wish the ground would swallow me whole and put me out of my misery_ , he thought. He wished he were dead as she saw his flaccid cock and inner thighs covered in thin white scars.

Arnold quickly pulled up his trousers and sat up, hiding his face in his hands. _What a loser. Useless._

“Arnold, I’m sorry,” Amelia said softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry if I was rushing you. We don’t have to do anything right now. We’ve got all the time in the world.” She chewed her lip and her hands fussed with the blanket.

“You don’t mind about… about, you know, the scars?” he asked in a small voice.

“Of course I don’t,” she said scooting next to him, putting her arm around his shoulders. He leaned against her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well, we don’t have to do that either.”

 

“So what’s this I hear about you punching out old Iron Butt?” Kris asked with a smirk.

She and Yvonne were sitting in the drab grey refectory at the Moytura Space Corps base, its huge reinforced windows looking out at the icy wasteland of the raw, unterraformed Europa. A stark contrast to the warm, climate controlled expanses of land wrapped around the rest of the moon. If one were to head to the opposite end of the base and look out the East windows, one would see the lush farmlands of the Balgatan territory.

Yvonne felt the cold, grey slush covering the windows perfectly matched her mood, as she knotted her fingers in her hair and groaned.

“I know, it’s awful.”

“You’ve stopped smoking for three weeks and already you’re a husband beater.” Kris’s tone was light and sarcastic, but Yvonne felt like it fit the bill pretty well. “Mind you, if I had to stop smoking, it would have happened a lot sooner.”

“You’d have hit Dave?” Yvonne asked skeptically.

“No, I’d have hit Arnold.”

“Funny,” she said dully.

“Okay, you’re an irredeemable bitch who should be in irons. Feel better?”

“No.”

“Will you relax? He’ll be fine. He’s had worse than a punch in the mouth by a 5’5” girl. He will get over that. I’m more worried about you. What were you fighting about, anyway?”

“Same thing. Money. Even though the company is paying for most of Arnie’s surgery, our co-pay is still substantial. With Arnold’s work being intermittent, he’s of the mind that now is not exactly the best time to go on holiday.”

“Yeah, and the next time we could get the time off would coincide with the next alignment of the planets,” Kris said, rolling her eyes.

“Not to mention the _other_ thing.”

“Not to mention.”

“We _need_ this holiday,” Yvonne said, shaking her head. “And Arn needs the time to recover. Tranter’s painting helped a lot. Thank Dave again for putting that bug in his ear.”

“So, I mean, what made you actually hit him?” Kris asked, letting concern peek through for the first time.

“I don’t know, I mean, it got to the point where we were just yelling at each other, and he reached out his hand and I just… it was like a flash in my brain, like being in the ring. Just reflexively, side step and go for the opening.” Kris’s brow creased.

“Did you think he was gonna hurt you?”

“In the moment, it was so automatic I didn’t think anything. Looking back on it, it’s obvious he wasn’t. God, this is a mess. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re stressed out and overworked. You probably need the time off more than anyone.”

“What about the boys? Are they excited?” Yvonne asked.

“This is the slowest week of their lives. Dave included. Though Bex is still worried that he can’t swim.”

“I’m sure we can get him swimming like a fish by the end of the week.”

 

Arnold sat in the office of Doctor Adet Olorunfunmi, clutching his father’s hand. He wished his mother were here as well, but he was glad he wasn’t alone.

Dr. Olorunfunmi came in and greeted them warmly. She had developed a good rapport with Arnold over the past few weeks. He liked her instantly, and she made him feel slightly less nervous.

“Hi, Arn. How are you doing today?” She was good at making it sound like a genuine question, rather than a rhetorical one.

“I’m a little nervous,” he replied sheepishly. She raised an eyebrow.

“Just a little?”

“A little nervous, a lot terrified,” he laughed.

“That’s normal. But trust me, you have nothing to be scared of. I just wanted to go over some of the basics again before we start prepping.”

“Okay,” Arnold nodded.

“As you know, we’re not restoring your vision. You lost your sight during a period when your visual system was still developing. If you were to suddenly regain your eyesight, your brain would have no context or understanding of the visual stimuli it was processing. But,” she paused, tossing a small rubber ball in his direction.

Arnold caught it easily.

“Your blindsight is quite good. When we were still evolving, our brains had much more primitive visual systems. The “reptilian”, if you like. It continues to be a part of our subconscious system of perception. The other system, the “mammalian,” evolved with us, and this visual system is part of our conscious mind. The part you have lost. What blindsight tells us is that human perception is not dependant on conscious visual stimuli alone.”

Arnold nodded, feeling like he was understanding most of what Olorunfunmi was saying, though Rimmer looked totally lost.

“What the implants aim to do is switch what your mind is processing subconsciously to a conscious level. While you still won’t “see,” your brain will consciously process that a ball is being tossed at you, or someone is standing next to you. You won’t “feel” it anymore, you’ll know it.”

“And what are the risks?” Rimmer asked.

“They’re very minimal,” Olorunfunmi replied. “It’s possible that his brain won’t accept the implants, and the switch just won’t work. There’s a remote chance of infection, but that’s true of all implants, which is why he’ll be in a clean room for recovery the day after the surgery.” She smiled. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. Both of you. But you’re hardly a guinea pig, Arn. Over a hundred people have gone through this process. None of them are worse off than when they started.”

“Will it hurt?” Arnold asked.

“The surgery itself is minimally invasive. No cutting or drilling. What we do is insert nanobots in through the eye sockets, and they find their way from there. There will be some slight swelling around the eyes, but that will go away fairly quickly. The nanobots will install the implants incrementally, giving your brain time to acclimate to the new information it’s receiving. This will take about a week or two, depending on how well you respond to the implants. After the full installation, the nanobots will discharge through your tear ducts. You won’t even notice.”

“Okay,” Arnold said, rubbing his hands together.

“Any questions?” she asked. He shrugged.

“When do we get started?”

 

The next two days were tense. Yvonne was staying at the base overnight to tie up all her loose ends before leaving for a week, but would be back to see Arnold out of recovery.

Rimmer and Michael sat quietly at the dinner table, Michael mostly pushing his food around.

“You okay, Michael?” Rimmer asked. The boy nodded vaguely. “Arn’s gonna be okay, you know?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. Rimmer’s nose twitched and his leg jiggled, unsure of how to make his youngest feel better. His thoughts were distracted as he heard a tiny mewling.

Rimmer looked up and around, then at Michael, who was pretending not to hear the sound. Rimmer got up and followed the sound to Michael’s backpack, where the tiny grey kitten had been sleeping.

Pulling the cat from its hiding spot, he brought it to where Michael was sitting, staring at his plate.

“Where’d he come from?” Rimmer asked.

“Frankenstein had kittens,” Michael said. He looked at his father with his gooiest wide eyed expression. “Can we keep him? Please?”

God, Rimmer hated cats. Why couldn’t it have been puppies? Either way it was another mouth to feed, another thing to take care of…

Michael’s chin wobbled. Dammit, that kid knew how to do that on command. Rimmer sighed heavily through his nose.

“What are you naming it?”

“Caesar,” Michael said, beaming.

“Good name.”

 

Arnold felt groggy and sore when he woke up in recovery. He gingerly felt his face around his eyes. They were puffy and tender. He heard someone come in his room.

“Good morning, Arnold,” Dr. Olorunfunmi said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I went ten rounds in the ring with Jet Ali,” he mumbled. Olorunfunmi laughed.

“That’s normal. I brought you your breakfast. Though you may not feel like eating, I’d like you to try anyway.” She set the tray table in his lap as he sat up.

He wasn’t very hungry at first, but after a few bites he found his appetite. When he’d finished, Olorunfunmi pulled out a deck of multicoloured flash cards.

“Oh, not the flash cards,” Arnold moaned.

“Oh, oh, oh, not the flash cards,” she mocked teasingly. “Come on, you know the drill.”

She held up the cards for him to guess the colours. He got about a third of them correct, his usual average. He couldn’t help looking disappointed. It didn’t seem to bother Olorunfunmi.

“Don’t worry, Arnold. That’s to be expected. As I said, it will take a while for them to start working. Now, you just rest here. Your family will be by to pick you up tomorrow morning.”

 

“What colour is that car?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know,” Arnold said.

“What colour shirt am I wearing?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“How many fingers an I holding up?” Arnold asked, giving his brother the two finger salute.

“Leave your brother alone,” Yvonne said from the front seat of the car.

Arnold leaned his head back against the seat, pressing a gel ice pack to his black eyes. Even though he’d been resting all day yesterday, he still felt slightly drained, and had been fighting a low level migraine.

He could sense Michael watching him.

“What?” He asked, trying not to snap.

“Is anything different?”

Arnold concentrated for a moment, ignoring the throbbing it was causing in his temples. Olorunfunmi had advised against him trying to force the process, and to let it happen naturally over time.

He thought maybe Michael was wearing his red t-shirt, or his dad was wearing his old black corduroy trousers, the ones that were getting worn in the knees. But these were just guesses, and ones he probably could have made without the hardware in his head.

“I don’t know.”

 

Arnold headed into his room to lie down. His bag was packed for the lake house, sitting by the door. He’d been excited to go swimming and running around the woods with Michael and the twins, but now the idea of taking it easy in a deck chair by the water was sounding very appealing. God, he was turning into his old man.

Michael came in and sat on his bed, dropping something fuzzy on his chest.

“They said we could keep a kitten,” Michael said. “I’m taking him with me to the lake house.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Arnold asked, petting the tiny cat. “What if he gets lost in the woods?”

“I’ll look after him, he won’t get lost.”

Arnold stroked him a little while longer, the cat rubbing his head against his nose.

“It’s the grey one, isn’t it?”

“Can you see him?”

“No, he just feels different from the other ones.”

“Michael, do you have all your things packed?” Yvonne called from downstairs.

“Almost!” Michael shouted back. Arnold winced.

“Don’t yell, my head can’t take it.”

“Sorry,” Michael said, climbing off the bed.

“Hey, Mike,” Arnold asked before he left. “What colour is your shirt?”

“Blue.”

“Oh.”


	2. Season Out of Time

In the morning, the Rimmers met the Listers at the shuttle port. It was a minor circus and Rimmer was trying not to lose his shit.

After the Red Dwarf disaster, Rimmer had developed a fear of flying almost overnight. He usually took trains or land shuttles if he needed to go very far, and he tried not to make any plans that required leaving the ground.

Michael and Arnold were a couple of flyboys and loved it, though at the moment Arnold wasn’t looking very well either. He and Rimmer made an odd pair, both wearing dark sunglasses to hide their black eyes, both looking slightly too pale.

They had a 90 minute jag from Argadnel to Tara, and Rimmer had seriously considered intoxicating himself.

“God, you are green. We haven’t even gotten on the shuttle yet,” Lister laughed, slapping him on the back.

“Are you okay, Arnold?” Kris asked. The boy smiled weakly.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just a headache,” he said, adjusting his aviator sunglasses.

During takeoff, Rimmer had a white knuckle grip on the seat arms while Yvonne was whispering comforts into his ear.

Jim was practically clambering over Bexley, who had won the scuffle for the window seat, to watch their takeoff.

When the cabin light came on, indicating they were free to roam, Arnold unbuckled his belt and bent into the recovery position, cradling his aching head.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked.

“Nngh,” Arnold mumbled, non-noncommittally.

“You getting airsick, Ace?” Lister asked, coming over to the pair.

“It’s the robots in his head,” Michael said.

“It’s just a headache,” Arnold argued. “It’ll go away.”

“Why don’t you take one of your dad’s hypnotics? He’s already out like a light.”

Arnold shook his head, but wished he hadn’t. Wincing, he said, “the stuff he takes is way too strong. I hate that chemical hangover.”

 

Arnold suffered through it, and about 90 minutes later they were disembarking at the Tara shuttle port, Lister assisting a very disoriented Rimmer off their shuttle.

Loaded into their rented ten seat “dadmobile,” as Lister called it, they drove through the scenic beauty of the sprawling redwood forest, Rimmer stretched out, asleep in the back seat.

 

At the house, Lister’s idea to toss Rimmer in the lake as a wake up call was vetoed, and Arnold was feeling perkier once he was out of a vehicle and on solid ground.

He helped Lister heave his father onto the couch in the house to sleep off the rest of the hypnotic.

“I can see why you skipped these,” Lister told Arnold.

 

Once everything had been unpacked, Michael and Jim, hot antsy, and bored, finally raced off to the lake, hurling themselves off the dock into the cool water, arguing about who had got there first.

Bexley followed hesitantly, sitting on the end of the dock, dangling his feet in the water.

“Come in!” Michael urged.

“He can’t swim,” Jim said with some amusement.

“Shut up,” Bexley said.

“You can’t swim?” Michael asked. Bexley looked embarrassed. “We can show you how. It’s really easy.”

Bexley looked into the green depths of the lake and frowned.

“Maybe later,” he said.

Arnold eventually joined them, and when they lay on the dock, drying off in the Jovian heat, Jim sat up on his elbow.

“D’you guys remember the fort we made a few years back?”

“Of course,” Michael said.

“Let’s go find it.”

 

The quartet set off into the forest, dense with redwoods and dotted with arbutus. Their flat, round water canteens hung around their necks, and Michael had Caesar slung across his shoulders.

They found the giant tree that had fallen across a small drop off. They had dug a trench underneath and reinforced the walls and makeshift roof with branches.

They climbed inside, and Arnold had to stoop to fit. As they sat on the packed dirt floor, Arnold felt an aching inside him.

He had been twelve when they built this fort, Michael was seven, Jim and Bex six and a half, they insisted. “Ace” had always been the older boy, the Peter Pan to their Lost Boys. But back then, the difference in age didn’t seem so vast.

Things started to change around age 13 and 14. Suddenly it just seemed like he was too old to play the same games, their interests didn’t seem to be quite the same anymore.

Michael was almost the same age Arnold was when they’d built the fort. Even though he was only seven months older than the twins, he was the “older boy” now. Arnold could see strong leadership qualities growing in Michael. He knew, given the right push, that kid was going places.

Arnold was somewhat comforted that back here in the fort, it felt a little like the old days, even if it was just temporary.

They decided to play one of their old war games; capture the fort. It was a little like capture the flag. 

Each of them would start on opposite ends of the woods, wearing red or blue flags in their back pockets. The first team to snag both of the other team’s flags and bring them back to the fort won.

The teams were nearly always brothers with brothers, though sometimes the twins would complain that Michael getting the “older boy” gave him an unfair advantage and they’d swap.

Most of the time it turned into an excuse to wrestle and throw dirt clods at each other.

They used their canteens of water to make mud and smear camouflage or war paint on their faces.

Michael made a crude bow out of a thin branch and several rubber bands tied together. He tried firing off a stick, and it worked well enough. He knew Jim had his slingshot with him.

Michael and Arnold split up, looking for the twins. Michael ran to the perimetre of the woods. He slung his bow on his shoulder and started climbing a tree, leaving Caesar on the ground.

As he looked around, he wished he had a pair of binoculars. He spotted Bexley approaching cautiously, looking everywhere but up.

Michael smirked as he pulled out his bow and stick. As he took aim and prepared to fire, he caught a dirt clod to the face, knocking him off balance and out of the tree. The ground came up fast and hard, knocking the wind out of him.

Jim laughed as he ran over and yanked the blue flag out of Michael’s pocket.

“I got your flag!” He whooped and hollered, dancing out of reach as Michael tried to grab for his ankle.

Jim was out of sight by the time Michael got to his feet. What Jim hadn’t noticed was that he’d dropped his own flag. Michael grabbed it and Caesar, looking for the Listers again.

Michael found them tag teaming Arnold. All three were wrestling on the ground, throwing dirt and leaves at each other. He saw Bexley sneak Arnold’s flag. With both blue flags in hand, he took off running. Michael bolted after him.

Michael was faster than Bexley, but Bexley had a big head start. They both pumped their legs as hard as they could.

With the fort in sight, Michael dove for Bexley, catching his legs. They both went down, but Bexley managed to wiggle out of Michael’s grip and roll into the fort.

“I did it!” he shouted. “I’m king of the fort!”

 

Rimmer woke up on the couch with cotton mouth and a dull headache. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, spotting a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the table.

He gulped down the water, leaving enough to pop two tablets. With little grace, he stumbled outside, looking for the others. He found them by the fire pit.

“He lives!” Lister said as Rimmer dropped himself into a chair. “Here, let me check your pulse.” He grabbed Rimmer’s wrist.

“You want a beer?” Kris asked, grabbing another one for her and Yvonne from the cooler.

“No thanks,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s non-alcoholic,” Lister complained. “That’s children’s beer!”

“There’s the regular stuff too,” Kris said, fishing one out.

“So what are you catching us for dinner?” Lister asked Kris and Yvonne. “You brought your hunting knife, right? I swear I’ve seen Evee take down a Jovian bear with her bare hands.”

“Well I don’t think there are any bears here, ursine is off the menu.”

“No matter. The Duke and I are catching breakfast in the morning on the boat. All the fishing gear’s still in that closet, yeah?” Lister asked, poking Rimmer’s knee as the man seemed to drift from their conversation.

“Hmm? Yeah, probably.”

“Okay, we’ll _probably_ be catching breakfast in the morning,” Lister corrected.

The boys came out of the woods over the hill towards their parents, covered in scrapes and dirt.

“We haven’t even been here a day and they’ve gone feral,” Rimmer said.

“Hey, we were wondering, would it be okay if we spent the night in the fort tonight?” Michael asked for the group.

“Are you sure you want to sleep outside on the ground?” Yvonne asked.

“We’ll bring our sleeping bags,” Jim said.

“Let ‘em sleep in the great outdoors,” Lister said. “That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?”

“Alright,” Yvonne said. “But no fires. We don’t need you burning the place down.”

The three younger boys ran off back into the woods, but Yvonne held Arnold back for a moment.

“How are you feeling, Arn?”

“I’m okay,” he shrugged.

“Really?”

“A little headache, but I’m okay.”

“Alright. Try not to overexert yourself, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said before heading off to find the rest of the boys.

“He’ll be okay, Evee,” Kris said.

“I know,” she said and looked at Rimmer. “He’s stronger than he thinks he is.”

 

That evening, Yvonne and Rimmer lay next to each other in the cozy timber bed, his large hand resting on her belly, her smaller ones resting on his.

“What about Violet?”

“No flowers.”

“What about _Arlene?_ ” she said teasingly. Rimmer pulled a face.

“God, no.”

It was incredible to think that not very long ago parents had to wait _months_ to find out whether they were having a girl or boy, and not very long before that they wouldn’t even know until it popped out.

“We could give her one of those trendy spacy names, like Astrophel or Eupheme,” she giggled. Rimmer rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong with classic?”

“What, like Bertha or Miriam?” she said dryly.

“No. Something like... Jaqueline.” It was Yvonne’s turn to crinkle her nose.

“Sounds like a bratty princess.”

“Maybe I _want_ a princess,” Rimmer said.

When he was able to pull his mind out of the nosedive of angst over the prospect of raising another child, which wasn’t often, he liked the idea of fawning over a little girl, dressing her in fluffy pink dresses and bows and spoiling her rotten. He’d already raised two boys and didn’t want to raise GI Jane, which is what he knew Yvonne wanted.

Yes of course he’d want her to be strong and independent, but was hand to hand and knife combat necessary?

Of course, there was the issue of having another child at all. How could they afford it? Things were tight enough as it is, and they weren’t getting any younger. They’d both be in their fifties by the time she was ten. What on Io where they thinking?

“You’re worrying again,” Yvonne said, smoothing out the creases in his brow.

“Of course I’m worrying. This is mental.”

She sat up and kissed him, letting her lips linger on his. She looked down at him, her fingertips lightly brushing the healing split. Yvonne realized their fight hadn’t just been about money. It had been about whether or not they should let their future daughter live. She felt like crying.

“Arnold. Pretend for a moment that we don’t have to worry about money, or time, or mortality, or any of these things and tell me… do you want this little girl?”

Rimmer held his breath and slipped into the safety of the quiet space.

“Yes,” he whispered. She smiled, even though she still felt like crying, and kissed him again, snuggling close.

“We’ll find away, Arnold.”

 

Jim, Bexley, Michael, and Arnold sat around their small campfire next to their fort, toasting marshmallows. Jim deliberately set his on fire before blowing it out, explaining that he liked them "black and crispy.”

“Hey Ace, tell us another story,” Bexley said, carefully sandwiching his perfectly golden brown marshmallow between his graham crackers and chocolate.

“Hmm, about that dashing space hero?”

“Yeah, about the _real_ Ace,” Jim said in a teasing tone.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, thinking for a moment. “There was this ship, out in deep space. A small ship, a scout ship that had lost its mother ship. There were only four people on the ship, a human, a robot, um, a hologram, and an alien. The only alien in the Space Corps. And they’d been lost for a long time, and they were running out of food and supplies. The robot suggested that the human and the alien could cannibalize parts of themselves that they didn’t need very much.”

“Gross,” the twins cooed.

“The human and the alien didn’t think this was a very good idea, even if the robot didn’t understand why.”

“What were their names?” Bexley asked.

“The human was called Valentine, the alien was called Ziggy, the robot was called Giskard, and the hologram was called Zimmerman.”

“Those all sound very improbable,” Michael teased. Arnold elbowed him and continued.

“Anyway, with food running out for Valentine and Ziggy, and batteries running out for Giskard and Zimmerman, they found a derelict ship floating in space. Unfortunately it was a Simulant ship, decorated in the bones of their enemies. The crew couldn’t be sure if it was empty or if it was a trick. As they didn’t have much of a choice, they decided to board it and look for supplies.

As soon as they were on board, they were ambushed by a group of Simulants who locked them into one of the cargo holds. After a brief discussion about who they should mutilate first, they decided on Giskard, because a lot of their parts were broken and they could use his.

The Simulants took Giskard out of the cargo hold and into their workshop. They strapped him to a chair and pulled off his arms, and then pulled off his legs.”

At this point, the boys started looking anxious, having assumed the hero would have swooped in and stopped any potential mutilation.

“They pulled off Giskard’s head, and argued over who would get to have his eyes, and didn’t notice that someone had slipped into the work shop until they were under fire from a laser pistol. Three of the Simulants went down and the others retreated.

Ace was able to throw Giskard’s limbs and head in a bag, and carry his torso back down to the cargo hold. He let the others out, and the crew were able to fight off the rest of the Simulants and get back to their ship.

While they put Giskard back together, they asked Ace if he could help them find their old ship. He said that he couldn’t because they had reached the end of the universe, and they were the last ones left.”

“So what did they do?” Bexley asked.

“Ace said he could take them to the beginning of a new universe in another dimension, and they could start all over again. So that’s what they did.”

 

After too many s’mores had been eaten, and the small campfire put out, and the boys had fallen asleep in their sleeping bags, Arnold came awake with a start. His head felt like hot needles were drilling into his brain, and a hissing, screaming static overwhelmed all of his senses.

He crawled out of the fort, crying in pain and confusion. He didn’t know which way was up, he didn’t know where his limbs ended and the ground began. For the first time, Arnold felt truly blind, as all human sensation was cut off for several horrifying seconds.

Suddenly it stopped, leaving him breathless and shaking. He uncurled his fists, spreading his hands in the cool dirt and tried to steady his breathing.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, grabbing his arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he said.

“Was it… was it a nightmare?” Michael asked in a low tone.

“No… yeah, yeah, it was,” Arnold said, figuring it would be an easier explanation.

“Do you want to go back to the house?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay now.”

The pair slipped back into their sleeping bags, but Arnold found it very difficult to fall asleep again, his brain feeling far more active than his body.

 

“Quit rocking the boat,” Rimmer grumbled as he and Lister sat in the little wooden row boat in the middle of the lake. He rubbed his eyes, checking his line again.

“You are cranky in the morning, darling,” Lister teased. He slipped his hand into Rimmer’s, and Rimmer let him. He leaned over and kissed him, and Rimmer let him. When Lister leaned back, he frowned. “What’s wrong? You’re looking at me like I just told you that you have six weeks to live.”

“Lister, I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“Us. This thing, this back and forth thing.”

Lister sighed and watched passively, if a little sadly at Rimmer running his hands through his hair and rubbing his face in frustration. This was a familiar conversation. The two of them would enjoy a little bit of nookie, and then Rimmer would feel guilty and get paranoid and uptight. When he missed Lister enough, he would come back and start the whole process over again.

It had been annoying and confusing at first, but eventually Lister resigned himself to it just being another part of Rimmer’s routine. The man could never let himself be totally happy with anything he did.

Lister lit a cigarette and leaned back in the boat, watching Rimmer angst.

“I’m serious,” Rimmer said.

“Right,” Lister replied passively. Rimmer scowled.

“It’s so smegging easy for you, you god damn free love hippy bastard. My life is complicated enough as it is without this.”

“It is easy because I make it easy. It’s hard for you because you make it hard. I’ve explained it enough times, just because I love you doesn’t mean I love Kris any less, or vice versa. I don’t have a favourite son, why should I have a favourite lover?”

“And Kris is just pip and dandy with that, is she?”

Lister took another drag and shrugged. “You two get on each other’s tits now and then, but so do the boys. It’s what families do. You’re part of my family, Rimmer. We’re not _just_ godparents to each other’s kids. We’re not _just_ fooling around. I don’t know why that’s such a difficult concept for you.” He scooched closer to Rimmer, nuzzling his ear. “Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”

Rimmer didn’t have an answer to that question. At the age of 43, he’d had sex with two people in his entire life. He’d married one of them, but he loved both of them equally. His social programming was telling him he was supposed to pick one, ideally someone of the female persuasion and pretend he didn’t love anyone else.

He’d often wondered if he and Lister hadn’t immediately started families with the girls they’d been chasing, would they have ended up together instead? Though he supposed if it weren’t for the girls they were chasing, they’d all be dead.

Could anything have happened other than how it had?

“Yvonne is pregnant.”

“Yeah, Kris mentioned something along those lines.”

“I thought that, with the potential of another kid on the way, now might be a good time to…”

“What? Make yourself miserable?”

“To streamline my life.”

“You think that would make you happy?”

“I think it would make things less complicated.”

“Mate, look around you. You’re raising a son who is an alternate version of you dropped off by another version of you who is some kind of time travelling James Bond in space. I don’t think there’s a version of you who isn’t complicated.”

Rimmer looked grey and tired and depressed.

“Come on,” Lister said, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re supposed to be on holiday. You can worry about all this when you get back to the real world. Something’s tugging at your line.”

“I know,” Rimmer sighed.

“No, I mean a fish, you hooked something.”

 

Hunger lured the four boys back to home base, where the smell of breakfast sent their stomachs rumbling.

“Ooh, look whose wandered into the kitchen just in time for the washing up!” Lister said, eliciting a groan from the boys.

“You boys are filthy,” Yvonne said. “Go clean up before you eat.”

“Just toss ‘em in the lake for a rinse, they’ll be fine,” Lister said.

“Ignore the peanut gallery over here and go wash your hands,” Kris said.

Rimmer and Kris plated eight dishes with pan fried trout, eggs, beans, and toast while Lister poured tea and orange juice, Yvonne gathered the silverware, and the boys fought for sink space in the bathroom to wash their hands and faces.

While everyone sat at the table eating and chatting, Michael, Jim, and Lister surreptitiously flicking beans at each other like no one would notice, Rimmer sat back in his seat and smiled to himself. Lister was right. When he could stop worrying and fussing for five seconds, and just enjoy his family, his _whole_ family, he was quite happy.

This was a moment he didn’t have to hide in between, and wished he could live in forever.


End file.
